Darker Days
by Moonrose1
Summary: When the future Watson and Holmes meet, only a mystery can follow. Endangering both of their lives, they plunge deep into a history of the Holmes family and the explore the darkness of London. Finally Finished!!!!!
1. Beginnings

I sat on the edge of my seat on bus number 14. It was my first day at my new school, and I was exceptionally nervous. I had heard many rumors that English schools were much different from American.

I used to live in a tiny town in Michigan. We spoke slang and were very carefree with our clothing. But then my parents had decided to move to London. I was forced to give up my torn jeans for pressed dress pants. Not like I minded. I had never really fit in at my old school, and looking around the bus, I could tell that here there was no exception.

I realized that I was, once again, the odd one. Yet it turned out that no one thought I was the oddest.

"...And he hates sports, can you believe it? Spends all his time in the classroom, no roughing around. His speech is perfect... isn't he odd?" one of the taller boys said. Everyone laughed in agreement. I didn't understand what was wrong with anything that they said, but I laughed along as well, just for the fun of it. I really did wish to fit in.

The bus screeched to a halt in front of an immense school. It loomed at me, and I knew that this would not be one of my better days. I was the last to step off the bus, and walked with my head down toward the front doors. I very suddenly slammed into a large, bulky object. I raised my head to see that it was the boy who spoke on the bus. He glared at me.

"Why did you slam into me, huh?" he asked angrily.

"Well-I-um-um," I stammered. He spat at me.

"Answer me, moron!" he yelled, hitting me across the face. I fell to the ground, my books scattering around me. The boy loomed over me, and I was sure he would kick me. I braced myself for the blow, but it never came.

"I believe that you have no right to hurt that young lady. Leave her alone," said a high, biting voice. The boy turned around and sneered.

"Oh, are you going to stop me, Sherlock?" he said mockingly. The boy who had interfered with my beating, who was supposedly Sherlock, walked toward my abuser. Sherlock was extraordinarily tall and thin.

"Why, yes, I believe I will," he said, contempt showing through his voice. The boy laughed.

"Hey, listen everyone; Sherlock is going to fight me!" the boy shouted. Everybody cracked up at this remark, and formed a circle around the boy and Sherlock. I sat on the ground in fear as I watched the boy flex his muscles, while Sherlock just stood there. He was doomed.

Suddenly the boy lunged at Sherlock. Sherlock merely sidestepped, and the boy slammed into a short, squat boy. Sherlock shook his head and laughed, a funny high pitched sound.

"I that the best you can do, Jeffery?" he asked, chuckling. Jeffery leaped at Sherlock, and as far as I could tell, caught him unawares. Sherlock fell to the ground, his head slamming into the pavement with a sickening crunch. Jeffery began beating Sherlock up, hitting him in the mouth mostly, but sometimes in the stomach. Sherlock just lay there, his eyes glazed over. Finally, after five minutes, Jeffery stood up, quite satisfied with his work. Everybody else followed him as he went inside, leaving Sherlock laying on the ground. I began to crawl over to his side, when he sat up straight and began wiping the blood off of his mouth. He stood up and then offered his hand. He helped me up, than began to pick up my books.

"I'm terribly sorry about Jeffery. You really must watch out for the louse. Or, as you Americans put it, jerk," he said, his speech slurred from the blood that came from his mouth.

I was surprised he knew I was from America, but disregarded it, and knelt to help him, and to get a closer look at him.

He had blue eyes, I noticed right away. They were very dark, almost royal blue, and were quite lovely. He was thin and tall, as I had already noted, but he was also very pale, save for the spots where the blood remained. He had long fingers, and his face was oddly expressionless.

"Are you all right, sir? You are bleeding very badly. Why did you not fight back? And how did you know I was from America?" I asked. He handed me my books and rose from the ground.

"One question at a time, please. I'm fine, thank you. Jeffery has done worse. I didn't fight back because my height would give me an unfair advantage, and I just wanted him to leave you alone. As for the third question, I have a gift for observation and deduction," he replied.

"Slow down. You let him beat you up because you 'just wanted him to leave me alone'? That is so nice, but rather stupid, if you don't mind me saying. Why should you let yourself get hurt?" I persisted. He sighed and began walking back towards the building.

"You may think it stupid, but it isn't. You probably think I'm an oddball already. And just trust me when I say that what I do works, and I don't need to change just because it causes me slight discomfort," he responded icily. I frowned.

"I don't think you're an oddball. Quite the contrary, actually. So... ok, I'll stop yelling at you for that. But what do you mean by 'he's done worse'?" I asked. He opened the door for me and I stepped in.

"Criminal record," he answered calmly. I nodded slowly. 

"Ok, fine. What do you mean by 'I have a gift for observation and deduction'?" I inquired. He sighed.

"Exactly as I said. I have a gift for observation and deduction. I could tell you were American because of your shoes. The heel is a style not found in England, nor anywhere in the Europe area. Your skin is darker than a native European, indicating you have lived somewhere relatively sunny and warm. And finally, your accent is that with a nasally 'a' sound, indicating that you come from Michigan, most likely a small town," he said matter-of-factly as we walked down the halls. My mouth fell agape as he walked into what I presumed to be a nurses office. He sat down on the little cot as the nurse came to him and smiled.

"Been fighting again, eh Sherlock? This is what, your fiftieth time here in the past year?" the stiff nurse said. Sherlock smiled.

"Forty-ninth, Madam Piety," he said. He turned to me.

"What classes do you have, Miss Watson?" he asked. I rattled them off, then realized what he said.

"How do you know my name?" I questioned. He winced as the nurse applied anesthetic and peroxide to his mouth.

"Observation and deduction, again. What is your name, anyway?" he asked. I looked at him.

"Jenny. Jenny Watson," I replied.

"Sherlock Holmes."


	2. Holmes' Father

Ok, since I'm new at this, I completely forgot about a disclaimer for the last part of my story. So here it is.

I do not own Sherlock Holmes, Watson, or anything else created by Arthur Conan Doyle. Everything belongs to him, so please don't sue me, 'cause I don't have anything that I can be sued for, essentially.

I'm sorry I haven't written for a while. I've become sick, and then when I tried to open my files that were saved to disk, they had been wiped clean. So... here is the next chapter.

Chapter Two: Holmes' Father

It came to the point where we were inseparable in just three months. Wherever Holmes was, you could be sure to find me. I invited him over to my house almost everyday, where he would entertain me by pointing out strangers on the street and tell me about them. He began to teach me and amazingly enough, I understood. Yet he never told me anything about his family life. Finally, on a Thursday in October, I popped the question.

"Holmes, when do you think that I can come over?" I asked quickly. He dropped the books he was carrying and knelt to pick them up.

"Never, that's when," he replied. I glared at him, but with no effect.

"Why not? I have showed you everything that there is to show about me, yet I hardly know anything about you at all. You are like a closed book!" I said angrily. He turned to me.

"Watson, you are not to come over to my house, ever. That is my final answer," he said quietly. I glared at him once more, but he walked out the doors to go to his house. After he had left, I smiled. I had the perfect idea.

I decided to follow him home. I kept to the bushes and found that he had a rather ugly house only about a block from where I lived. I watched as he entered it and slammed the door shut. I ran to a window, abandoning my personal items, and looked in. I saw a tall man sitting in a chair, glasses on, reading. The window was cracked open a bit, which I was glad of when Holmes entered the room.

"Hello father," he said carefully. His father looked up and frowned.

"You're home, are you? What, do you want money or something?" he asked nastily. Holmes sighed.

"No father, I just was telling you that I was home. I'm sorry I disturbed you," Holmes said meekly. That surprised me a great deal. Holmes never said anything meekly. Quietly, yes. Meekly, no.

"Well get to your room, right now! Charise and I are going out tonight, and don't want to be disturbed. If you ain't good, I swear to God that I'll hurt you so bad..." The man trailed off, leaving the sentence open. Holmes looked at his father, than ran up the stairs. 

I supposed Charise was his mother, but I didn't really care about her for the minute. I ran to the other side of the house to find a tree that I could climb, so I could find Holmes' room. In about five minutes I managed to find one. I climbed the oak and peered into the window.

Holmes had a very neat and tidy room, I noticed right away. He had a closet, a bed, a desk, a chemistry set, two bookshelves, and a few things scattered here and there. I watched as he sat at his desk and wrote something down on a piece of paper. I grew quite bored of this and rapped impatiently on the window. He jolted up and saw me. Holmes stood angrily and opened it.

"What do you think you're doing here? Get out of here, now!" he hissed. I pushed past him.

"So, this is your room, huh? Nice. I thought it would be different, but oh well," I said, ignoring him.

"Watson, please. If my father finds you here..." he trailed off. I looked at him.

"Tell me about your father and your mother," I demanded. He sighed and sat on the bed.

"Fine. My father is an alcoholic. He is not abusive, contrary to the beliefs that go around school. He is just somewhat of a jerk. My mother left us when I was ten. She was hurt in a car accident and father found her repulsive to look at. She moved to America, I believe, and I haven't heard from her since," he answered angrily. I was rather confused.

"Then who is Charise?" I asked. He smiled lightly.

"A very nasty lady whom my father is dating. She isn't a big deal though. She'll be gone in another week or so. She has a criminal record too. She used to take drugs. I told my father that, but he doesn't care," Holmes said bitterly. I hugged him.

"Your family life sucks," I said. He shook off the hug and smiled.

"I suppose it isn't the best. But, one has to go on. I can't let my father ruin my entire life, now can I?" he said. I smiled.

"Now that is the Holmes I know! So, what are we doing after your father leaves?" I asked. He shrugged.

"I suppose we could just stay here. There isn't much to do in my room, but I think we'll manage," he replied. I frowned.

"Why can't we leave your room?" I inquired. 

"My father locks the door."

"But you know how to pick locks, remember? On that thing last week, with the missing lunch money case? The door was locked and you picked it?" I questioned. He rolled his eyes.

"My father may look like an ignorant slob, but he does have the Holmes family genes in him. He can tell when a lock has been picked. I really don't need him angry at me," Holmes explained patiently. I sighed.

"All right then Holmes. If you wish for me to stay, just give me the word. Otherwise I'll leave," I replied. Holmes looked at me in utter disbelief.

"You truly think that I want to stay alone during my confinement? I wish for you to stay, but of course," he uttered. I smiled.

"Thank you, Holmes. Now then, when will your father leave?" 


	3. Two Attempted Murders

Ok, this is the third installment of my story. As I said before, none of this belongs to me. Well, maybe the plot and the computer and... I'm rambling. Lets just say that I don't own the characters or a lot of other things.

We have a tornado watch right now, so this has to be really quick. Oh, crap, lightning just flashed. So, yeah, it's gotta be really quick. So...

Chapter Three: Two Attempted Murders

I stormed out of my French class very angry. I had gotten an 'F' on my report card! I was very ticked, of course.

"Dang blasted stupid French teacher. 'Oh, you spelled Bonjour wrong. Oh, you suck. Oh, si'l vous plait, mademoiselle'. Jerk, how do you say that in French!" I muttered as I spun the combination to my locker. In my haste I missed the sign for the dance on Friday, and probably wouldn't have noticed it, if I hadn't dropped my books.

As I knelt (still muttering every curse word known to man) I looked at the sign in front of me. It was announcing a dance. Everybody was asked to attend, and you had to have a dance partner. I studied it for a moment, then decided what I was going to do.

I walked to Advanced Chemistry and sat down next to Holmes. He was mixing a couple of chemicals, mumbling softly beneath his breath.

"Holmes, there is a dance on Friday that I'd like to attend. But you have to have partner. Do you think..." I trailed off. He looked up from his chemicals, highly amused.

"...That I would like to accompany you? You know I hate social events, Watson. Almost as much as I hate Jeffery. But, as it's for you, I shall attend. Next time, though, I would thoroughly enjoy seeing you on your knees and begging," he replied. I gaped at him, then began to laugh, earning a glare from Mr. Deqlarm, the chemistry teacher.

"You're a life saver Holmes. Thanks. You won't regret it," I whispered, as class had begun. He looked up suddenly, very disturbed.

"Formal?" he asked. I looked at him.

"Formal wear, you mean? Yes, it's formal. What are you going to wear?" I asked. Holmes glared at me.

"You know I never reveal what I'm going to do. I'll tell you this much, I won't be wearing a tuxedo," he answered.

That day at lunch I sat down next to Holmes. He was drinking his usual tea that he brought from home, for he preferred the taste of it to milk or coffee. But today he grimaced whenever he took a sip. I noticed and asked him about it.

"Oh, Charise made it for me today. I was going to be late to school. She added a new ingredient, said her child liked it in his tea," he said. I grinned.

"She didn't really say that, did she," I remarked. He smiled as he raised the cup to his lips.

"No. But she implied it. She said that she added a new ingredient. But the writing on the paper that she was looking off of was a child's, possibly our age. She already told us that she had a son, so I knew that the writing was her son's. And since the paper was much aged, I knew that the child liked it in his tea," he said, draining the cup and putting it back in his bag. I pulled out my sandwich and looked at it.

"Ew, what is this?" I asked, pulling out the flimsy meat from in between the two bread pieces. Holmes chuckled lightly and tossed me his sandwich. I looked at him gratefully as he pulled out his apple and bit into it. But a frown crossed his face when he did. I looked at him thoughtfully.

"What is it Holmes?" I asked. He usually liked his apples. He threw his apple away.

"I guess I wasn't as hungry as I thought," he murmured.

Holmes wasn't in school the next day. I took nothing of it, and assumed that something had came up, or he didn't feel well. But when he didn't arrive at school the next day, I grew quite worried. Holmes once told me that he never missed school if he could help it, and if he truly was sick, he would only miss one day before coming back. I decided something was wrong. When I got home I called the Holmes residence.

"Hello?" asked a harsh voice when the phone was finally picked up.

"Hello, may I speak to... Sherlock please?" I asked politely.

"No, he ain't well right now. Says weird things. Keeps saying 'Get Watson'. I think he's gone insane," the voice said nastily. I frowned.

"I need to come over and give him his homework. May I do that?" I asked, determined to see him.

"Sure, like I really care," the man said, hanging up.

I grabbed a few of my things and threw them in my backpack, hoping it looked like homework. I quickly told my mom I was going out, and ran down the street to Holmes' place. I knocked on the door, and his father answered it.

"You that girl that called?" he asked. I nodded. He pointed me in the direction of his room and I ran upstairs and knocked on the door.

"Come in," said a weak voice. I entered slowly.

Holmes lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His face was twice as pale as it usually was, and he looked absolutely malnourished. I ran to his side instantly.

"OH Holmes! What has become of you?" I cried. He smiled compassionately and took my hand in his.

"I seem to have come down with a slight illness Watson," he whispered, his voice cracking in the middle. I forced a laugh.

"SLIGHT? You look like you're dying! Whatever is the matter?" I asked. 

"I don't wish to eat, it hurts to move, I can't sleep, I have a mild fever and- do you wish for me to go on?" he asked, stopping in the middle of is ramblings. I shook my head.

"Was it something you ate? Are you talking medication? Have you been to the doctor?" I asked in rapid succession. He sighed.

"No to all three, Watson. Father does not wish to spend the money on a doctor or medication. And food does not cause this," he said, closing his eyes. I gripped his hand.

"Come on, I'm taking you to the doctor." I yanked him from his bed. He cried out in pain.

"No! Just leave me here. I'll be fine!" he rebuked. I shook my head and helped him down the ladder we had planted off his window. I helped him to my house.

When we got there, I sat him down on the couch and ran for my mom. She looked at me in surprise as I barged into her bedroom.

"What is it, honey?" she asked kindly.

"Holmes is quite ill, and his father won't take him to the doctor. We need to take him to the emergency room, now!" I said quickly. She jumped up and ran into the living room.

Holmes looked horrible. It was as though our walk had tired him out. His eyes were closed, and he was sweating very badly. Mom walked forward and placed a cool hand on his brow. As soon as she touched him, Holmes jumped back with a yell. Mom looked at him gently and held a hand out to him. He wouldn't let her touch him. After five minutes though, his body gave up and he passed out. I panicked, or course. Mom scooped him up in her arms and ran to the car. I jumped in and we rushed to the hospital.

We spent over an hour in the waiting room, my mom sitting calmly in a chair, and me pacing back and forth. Finally, a doctor approached us.

"It's a good thing you got him here soon. Miss Watson, may I speak to you alone?" the doctor asked. Mom nodded towards me, and I followed the doctor. We entered a room that was unoccupied and he sat me down.

"Miss Watson, does anybody have it out for Mr. Holmes?" he asked. I frowned.

"Why do you wish to know?" I replied. He sighed.

"This isn't easy for me to say, but you friend was poisoned. Another 48 hours and he probably would have slipped into a coma," the doctor said. I gasped, horrified. Holmes had nearly died?

"May-may I see him please?" I asked shakily. The doctor shook his head.

"He's unconscious right now miss. I don't think he could talk to you," the doctor said. I looked at him and scowled.

"Please? I just want to see him. I don't care if he can't talk," I begged. The doctor smiled and saw how desperately I need to see him. He took me to a room down the hall and opened the door. I cautiously entered the white room, and the doctor shut the door behind me.

Holmes lay in one of the beds, breathing shallowly, with a tube connected to his arm. Ever curious about medical things, I stepped forward and looked at what it was connecting to. It was attached to one of those feeder things. It was feeding him. I reached out to touch the tube when a gentle voice shattered the silence of the room.

"I don't think the doctor would like you to do that," it said. I looked over at Holmes. His eyes were open! He had awoken! I rushed forward and hugged him.

"Holmes... oh thank God you are all right. I nearly lost you," I choked as I burst into tears. He took me in his arms.

"It's all right Watson. It's all right," he whispered.

Holmes was released from the hospital the following day, Thursday. He and I spent the day at my house sitting on the sofa and watching TV together, rather than go to school. He was still weak, but he promised to take me to the dance. My mom was letting him stay for at least a week. She had gone to court and told the judge about how Holmes' dad was treating him. The judge was allowing Holmes to stay for one week, but that was it.

Friday he disappeared from our house. He explained to me at school that he wanted to stay at his house, at least today. I agreed, but only if he promised after the dance to come straight home with me. He consented.

After school I ran home. Mom was going to help me get ready. She had picked out a dress for me and everything! I was very excited. I changed into the dress and then turned to my mom for help with my hair. She placed me in front of her vanity and began brushing my straight black hair.

"So, do you like Sherlock?" she asked. I smiled shyly.

" I don't know... I think I do, but I can't confuse love for loyalty towards him," I remarked. Mom smiled.

"Good thinking kiddo. I really like him though. He's got a good head on his shoulders," she said. She twisted my hair and pulled it up into a bun. I gaped at my transformed self and stood. Mom hugged me and drove me to the dance.

When I got inside I leaned against the wall, very nervous. All the girls looked twice as good as me. What made me think Holmes would want to go with me?

_Nonsense,_ I thought, _He wouldn't of agreed to go with me if he didn't want to._

I felt a slight tapping on my shoulder and spun to see Holmes standing next to me. He still looked dreadfully pale, but he no longer looked like he was going to collapse, which I took as a good sign. He smiled at me.

"Hello Watson. You're looking lovely this evening" he stated, as though he said it everyday. I blushed and scanned him.

He was wearing blue dress pants, an white shirt, and he had something in his hand. It was a small box. I looked at it closer, but he caught me.

"Ah, looking at my little box, are you? I shouldn't of tried to hide it form you," he said teasingly. Holmes tossed the box to me. I looked at it curiously.

"Open it," he urged. I consented and opened the small box and gasped.

Inside was a stunning necklace, with stones glittering from it.

"It was my mothers. She told me to give it to someone that I cared about. And I haven't had as good friend like you since... ever" he finished lamely. I gaped at it and finally found the words to speak.

"Oh, Holmes. Beautiful doesn't even begin to describe it!" I uttered. He smiled.

"It's real diamonds and sapphires. Let me put it one you," he said. I gave the beautiful necklace to him and he unclasped it and put it around my neck.

"There. It looks stunning on you Jenny," he said carefully. I was shocked when I finally realized what he said. He had called me by my first name. He had never done that before. I looked up at him and smiled. He smiled back and led me onto the dance floor.

We danced for half of the evening. I was surprised to see many of the girls looking at me enviously. I had though Holmes to be as unpopular as I. But, I reflected, he was rather good looking. Many girls would be lucky to get here hands on him.

The dance has supposed to be two hours long. But it didn't last that long. Around 9:00 something terrible happened.

Holmes and I were dancing, I pressed close to him, his head on mine. He pulled me closer to him all of a sudden, his body tense. I froze and heard what had made him stop.

Someone was loading a gun.

Guns weren't allowed, and by the footsteps, it was obviously a student. Suddenly, the lights went out. I clung to Holmes. I was terrified of the dark, and I was thankful that he was here to face it with me.

"Let go Watson. I need to see something," he whispered urgently. I let go of him, with every intention of staying with him, but he disappeared through the masses of people. I stood there very much alone, when a gunshot ran out.

Than another.

The students began screaming and pushing past one another. I stood there in the mayhem of it all, when someone running past me grabbed my arm and pulled me. The next thing I knew, I heard a gunshot go off right next to me. It flew past me, thankfully, but only because the person pulling me had pulled me out of the way.

I fell to the floor, with the person still holding onto to me. In fact, the second I fell, the figure hugged me. Confused, I looked at the person's face. It was Holmes.

"Holmes! What is happening? Was that bullet meant for me, or someone else?" I asked amongst the chaos, pulling away from him. He didn't answer, he only pulled me to him and rocked me. I was taken aback. Holmes wouldn't reply, but from his actions, I knew that bullet was meant for me.

My mom picked us up later, after the police had been called in. Holmes hadn't spoken through the entire ordeal, just stared into space, refusing to let go of me. We went home and I curled up in my own bed, feeling very safe and happy. In the middle of the night, however, something woke me up.

It was a soft yell that awoke me. It occurred to me that the voice was Holmes' and so I pulled a bathrobe around me and walked to his room quickly. I left the light off and sat down by him.

"Holmes, are you all right?" I asked. He sobbing violently into his hands. He looked at me, obviously shaken.

"Yes, I'm fine Watson. I just had a nightmare. Go back to sleep," he said uncomfortably as he wiped his tears away. I looked at him.

"You aren't fine. Holmes, you haven't spoken since-since I was shot at. Is that it then? You were upset about that?" I asked. He didn't answer, merely looked down. I pulled him into a hug, and he began to cry again, softer though.

"I don't want you to die! I've never really had a friend. I just don't want you to die," he whispered. I smiled.

"So, you're as distraught about losing me as I am about losing you," I answered. Suddenly he began shaking. I thought he was crying, but when I looked at him, I saw he was laughing.

"What?" I asked, offended. He cracked up.

"Here I am, crying! Me, the one who never shows emotion, crying! If only someone could see us now! I can just imagine what it looks like!" he laughed. I bit my lip, then dissolved into helpless laughter as well.

"You goose! You aren't supposed to laugh after you cry!" I giggled. He cracked up again.

Holmes, I realized then, was very much like his great-great-great grandfather. Yet, when it came down to friendship, he would laugh, cry, smile and show many emotions. And in the future, it would help us with a very serious case. 

So, what do you think? Is it good enough? In case you're wondering, I have a tendency to beat up my favorite characters. But I swear I won't beat Holmes up much more. Please review. So far I have four reviews (which is more than I expected). Hey, even if you have to flame me, it's more than welcome.


	4. Investigation

Ok, I'm finally writing again! Sorry, I got sick again. I think I have a weak immune system... anywho. I'm desperately sorry for making the last chapter so... not descriptive. As I said, we had a Tornado Watch, which later turned into a warning, so I had to type like I've never typed before.

I've had a couple of people ask me whether or not Holmes and Watson are reincarnations of the formers. The answer is No. They are descendants, nothing more. I'm going to elaborate more on that later. Trust me! If you have any other questions, just add them to the reviews, and I'll be happy to answer them. Also, both Holmes and Watson are fifteen and are in tenth grade. So... here's the next chapter

Chapter 4: Investigation

A strong hand shook me from my lovely dream. Annoyed, I swatted it away.

"Go away Mom. It's to early," I mumbled into my pillow. A soft laughter pulled me from the last layers of sleep and I rolled over to look at the figure leaning over me. 

"Holmes, come on, it's... jeez, it's seven in the morning," I groaned, looking at my clock. He persisted in shaking me until finally I slapped his hand away and sat up.

"What! School's cancelled, I heard it already. Go back to sleep!" 

"My dear Watson, you really are a deep sleeper, and a cranky lady when forced awake. Come, we have an investigation to begin. You will need these clothes, and I suggest you move along, quickly of course," he explained, all the while chuckling to himself. I glared at him and pulled myself from my bed. He left the room and I stared at the clothes he had handed me.

"God Holmes! These smell awful!" I whispered. They were a policewoman's clothes, and smelled of sweat and sewer. Reluctantly I pulled them on with disdain, holding my breath. I grabbed a comb and stepped into the hallway.

Holmes stood in front of our hallway mirror, carefully parting his now oily hair. I grimaced at the sight and quickly ran the comb through my hair.

"Holmes, what in the world did you put in your hair?" I badgered. He looked at me with surprise.

"Whose Holmes? My name is Stanley Young. I work for the, I don't know, Welsh police," he said, in a flawless Brooklyn accent. I cracked up as he applied a mustache.

"All right, Mr. Young. Who am I?" I asked. He looked at me thoughtfully.

"Well, you look French... You're Olivia Cardia, my young French assistant. Or apprentice, your choice," he said. I gaped at him in horror.

"I failed French! I can hardly say 'hello' in French!"

"First of all, it's Bonjour. Second of all, why do you think I chose it? You know some words. Besides, this way you might not accidentally blow our cover," he commented.

"Excuse me? Blow our cover? I don't think so!" I half yelled. He laughed and started down the stairs.

"Excusez-moi? Soufflez notre couverture ? Je ne pense pas ainsi!" he said. 

"What!?" I said as he darted out the door.

******************************************************************************************

We approached the crime scene carefully and quietly, hoping not to get caught. I prayed we wouldn't get caught, but everyone knows that it is sure to happen.

As Holmes lifted the crime scene tape, we heard the dull thud of a heavy man's shoes against the pavement. The man turned the corner and looked at us.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing here? Who are you?" he yelled. I assumed the best blank look I could muster and smiled sweetly at him.

"Bonjour, monsieur!" I called. He scratched his head dumbly and turned to Holmes.

"Oi! I asked you a question!" he barked. Holmes looked at him calmly and smiled.

"Good day my dear man. My name is Stanley Young. I was sent by my commander to check out this here crime scene. Now, if you could please let us pass..." Holmes said, waving a hand in the man's face. The man's pudgy face frowned, and finally he turned and stalked away, leaving us to our own devices. 

I followed Holmes inside and we went into the gym. The place was in shambles, literally. The bright colored banners that once hung from the eaves now lay draped on the floor. The gym floor had black marks from people's shoes everywhere. The refreshments were still out, gathering flies, and the bullet holes were everywhere (A.N. There were lots of gun shots, but when I was writing that, I heard on the news a tornado had been spotted in the county next to us, and I panicked and wrote as quickly as I could. All together, there were thirteen gunshots). Holmes pulled out a magnifying glass and began to inspect a few of the holes that were stuck in the floor and wood bleachers. His methodical ways slowly moved him to the door, when he issued a cry of triumph. I walked toward him casually.

"What did you find Holmes?" I questioned. He smiled and pointed to a small hole in the brick. I stared at it, but found nothing there.

"Come now Holmes. Nothing is there," I protested. He shook his head.

"I didn't tell you to inspect the bullet, I just told you to look at the hole. What can you infer from it?" he interrogated. I shrugged.

"I don't know... how tall he is?" I asked. He nodded.

"Indeed. You see, if the bullet was imbedded here, and a man wishes to shoot with proper poise and accuracy, they would level there hands, like so," he said, demonstrating. I nodded.

"I dare say that our man would like to use the best poise and accuracy when trying to kill people, so next I looked at where the bullet was imbedded. About six feet off the ground, actually around 5"10. Add a few inches for the shoulders, neck and head, and I would say our suspect is around six feet, only about an inch shorter than me. I also know what hand they write with, because I found these on the floor." Holmes held up a bag full of black ashes, which I could only assume were gun powder.

"These ashes are discharge from a gun that is sold in only one place in England, and thankfully it's near by. This gun is made for a left handed man, and a right handed man would cause themselves great injury if they tried to use it. And so, now we are off to see Danny."

"Whose Danny?"

"Wait and see, Watson. Wait and see."

*************************************************************************************************

We arrived at a small store about seven miles away from my home twenty minutes later. The store was a small, dilapidated old place, with shingles slipping off the roof and rotten stairs. Holmes entered the store with ease and comfort, while I warily eyed the stairs and shingles. It looked like it could collapse at any second.

Danny turned out to be the owner of the store, a weasel eyed old man. He was hideous to look at, with rotten teeth, a mole on his chin, dirty fingernails, and a ugly tattoo on his arm. He was as pitiful looking as he was disgusting. Holmes approached the counter with grace and flair and leaned an arm upon it.

"Hello Danny. We meet again. I have something that I need you to find for me," Holmes said offhandedly. The man bared his disgusting teeth.

"I ain't doin' nothin' fer ya Holmes. One moth in jail 'cause 'o' you. I ain't gonna do nuthin'," Danny said nastily. Holmes remained calm, though I could feel my blood boiling.

"A pound if you help me Danny," he continued. The man licked his lips greedily and smiled.

"Two," he said. Holmes shook his head.

"I don't have two. A pound and a guinea," Holmes bartered. The man's eyes popped open.

"Deal. What'd ya got fer me, Holmes me boy?" Danny said, swiping the money from Holmes' outstretched palm. Holmes reached his thin hand into his pocket and pulled out the bag of ashes I had seen earlier.

"Who bought this gun?" Holmes demanded. Danny glared at him and took the ashes out of the bag. He sniffed them with elegance I wouldn't have granted him, and set the ashes on the counter.

"Huh, left handed caliber. I never sold one of these, Holmes. Plenty of right handed ones, but no lefties," he said, pushing the bag away from him. Holmes scowled.

"This is your signature style, Danny. Do you make them?" Holmes inquired angrily. Danny nodded.

"Sure I do. Two is the total I've ever made," he said casually. Holmes sighed, exasperated.

"Then how could you not sell THIS GUN TO SOMEONE!" Holmes finally yelled. Danny jumped back, very startled.

"Now then, Holmes. No-no need to get excited. This gun was stolen from me. Last week sometime. I don't exactly keep track..."

Holmes slammed his hand down on the counter, his rage shining through his once calm blue eyes.

"Tell me now, you little louse! I know you keep records! I've seen the bloody records! What day was this gun stolen!" Holmes bellowed. Danny shrank behind his arms, and scuried to the back of the store. Holmes ran a hand through his hair, quite perturbed. Danny came back out in a minutes, carrying a large, black book in his hands. He flipped it open and pulled out some glasses.

"Caliber... no that was right handed... Ah! Here it is! Wednesday, this week was when it disappeared. Went with my best hunting knife too!" Danny whined. Holmes rolled is eyes and examined the book carefully.

"Thank you Danny. It says it was kept in a safe. May I look around in the back?" Holmes asked kindly.

This was boring, sorry to say. I was no detective, and none of this was relevant to me. I glanced down at my watch and was shocked to see the time.

"Holmes, it's nearly noon. We must be getting back now! Mom will be worried about us," I whispered urgently. He brushed me aside impatiently and pointed toward the old, battered phone in the corner.

"Holmes, no change," I whispered again. He turned and looked at me, ticked off.

"Really Watson, I don't have time for this. Take the bloody change and call your mother," he said urgently, pushing multiple coins into my hands. As I stalked off to use the phone, Holmes went into the back room, looking at a few things. I called my mom, who was furious at me for not leaving a note, and said I could stay out until five. I dashed to the back of the store, where Holmes was examining the safe with his magnifying glass.

"Picked. It was picked from a hair pin from the company Eve's. Rubber on the end, made of copper, high quality... bent a bit more than one would expect... strong?" Holmes was muttering to himself, fingering the inside combination and lock as Danny stood nearby, rubbing his hands nervously. Finally Holmes stood, brushing himself off and turning to Danny.

"Thank you Danny. You've proved to be of great help today. We might be back later, but I doubt it," Holmes said lazily. He turned to me.

"Come Watson. We have a while, yes? Let me treat you to lunch," he said, pulling me out of the store.

*************************************************************************************************

We had lunch at a cozy family diner. He told me all the facts he had gathered, that our suspect was about six foot, left handed, and lived with an older woman. Quite possibly his mother. The mother had blond hair with brown roots, showing that she dyed it. The suspect was handy with unlocking things, and could bend and manipulate things with ease. All this he deduced from a bullet, ashes, a lock and a hair pin. He knew where the gun had been bought, where the hair pin came from, and a few other details that he laid aside for the moment, saying they weren't important as of yet.

As we walked home around four, we struck up a small conversation that, for once, wasn't related to the case.

"Holmes, have you ever had a girlfriend?" I asked. He looked at me with surprise, caught off guard. He laughed, quite suddenly, startling me.

"You really think that I, Sherlock Holmes, would ever have a girlfriend?" he laughed, but it seemed strained. I looked at him skeptically.

"That didn't answer my question, Holmes," I reminded. He fell silent.

"Yes and no. I had a strong liking for a girl when I was younger, but she liked those who were strong, not smart. She liked the jocks, and she hated me. What about you," he said, changing the subject with simplicity. I shrugged.

"Well, yeah. He was an idiot though. We grew bored and drifted apart. I haven't really met the perfect guy yet," I said. But then I realized that wasn't true.

I had, and he stood here before me.

"Good bye Watson," he said, for we had reached my house, "see you tomorrow," he said. I nodded and watched as he walked down the street and disappeared around the corner, feeling highly confused.


	5. Interrogation

NEXT CHAPTER!!!! Sad to say, this is the longest thing that I've ever written. But I'm going to continue it. I always hated when I read a story, and the author didn't finish it, then moved onto another story. But I won't do that. I'm somewhat loyal to my readers. Anyway, I don't own the original characters, and I suppose I don't own mine either. I didn't get anymore questions, so I'm hoping that there are none. Now, on with chapter five

Chapter Five: Interrogation

The next day was equally unimportant to me. Holmes continued the investigation, but this time there was no way I could help. He was busy inspecting the bullet all day, testing it and memorizing each aspect of it. It bored me. Finally, around seven, he pulled himself away from the microscope and looked at me.

"The suspect has money. The family that he lives n does not, but he has much to offer," Holmes concluded. I yawned and set down my book.

"How did you figure that out? And how does a boy have money when the family doesn't?" I asked wearily. Holmes flopped down in a chair, tired from the days events.

"The bullet is of the expensive kind. It is only found in boxes of five, which cost thirty pounds apiece. The suspect fired of thirteen shots, which is ninety pounds worth of bullets. Think about it. Yet all the evidence points to a poor family. There was a form of dirt on it that is only found in the poorest of areas in London. You will find it no where else. And I found a bit of a toe print with the same dirt on it. Our suspect has money, I would deduce, because he is involved in something criminal that pays well," Holmes explained. I gasped.

"Like... drugs? You don't think that..." I trailed off, not wishing to go one. Holmes nodded.

"That would have been my first idea," he replied grimly. I frowned.

"So, we're dealing with two attempted murders, stealing, and drug possession? This guy has fallen into the deep end of crime," I said. Holmes closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair.

"One would assume. But then, we should never assume anything. For all we know, he might of stolen the money. It really is of no importance to us, yet. It will be in the future." Holmes yawned.

"Now then, Watson. I'm really quite tired. Please accompany me home. I need to give you something, for your safekeeping," he said. I followed him out of my room, curious as to his behavior. We began to walk to his house in the biting cold of November. 

It surprised me a great deal when we walked in the front door of his house, considering we usually climbed the tree to his room. I looked at him as we went up the stairs.

"Why did we enter through the front door? Doesn't your father usually get angry?" I asked. Holmes pulled open the door to his room and ushered me inside.

"We're moving in another two weeks or so. He's at Charise's house right now, planning where he wants my room to be. All though I'm sure that he would prefer it if I lived outside," Holmes muttered bitterly. I gaped at him as he dug under his bed for whatever he wished to give to me.

"You're MOVING! I thought Charise was no big thing!" I cried. Holmes scowled.

"Trust me, so did I. But oh no... he's marrying her. In two months. So, we have two weeks to solve this case. Charise hates me, and will lock me in my room. And she won't let you come over, for sure. I tried to tell him again that she was a recovering drug addict, but he doesn't care," he said, his voice barely audible because he had once again began rummaging under his bed. Finally, he pulled his body out from the bed and tossed me something.

"This is something of great importance to me. I hope you like it. Parts of it are from you great-great-great grandfather, and the rest are from my ancestors. I know you don't have these, they're personal. Open them when you get home," he said, stopping my hand from yanking open the manila envelope. Suddenly the door slammed downstairs. Holmes shot his hands into the air and grabbed me.

"Get out of here," he whispered into my ear, "my father's home."

I climbed out of the window in with a speed I had hardly thought possible. I ran down the block. Finally, I was about ten houses from mine and so I slowed down to an easier pace. My gloves limited my grip on Holmes' folder, so I tucked it into a secret pocket I had sewn in my jacket during my early association with Holmes. I walked with ease along the street, when I heard a rustling come from the bushes. I stopped and looked around. That proved to be a bad idea. I heard someone come up behind me, and I spun around.

There stood a boy, maybe a woman, I couldn't tell. They raised a piece of pipe into the air and it connected hard with my skull. Then, blessed darkness.

I woke with a start and moaned. My head hurt, so badly that I wanted an aspirin (and I don't take them). Light shown through the windows of my prison, which I soon realized was the old factory about five blocks east of my school. Looking around some more, I found someone was sitting in a chair in the corner. It was rather obviously a woman, although a mask obscured her features, including her hair and eyes. The only thing visible was her mouth. I glared at her.

"Ah, good, you're awake. I was worried that my buffoon who attacked you had permanently knocked you out. Then I would have to kill him," she said casually. She had a light voice, one of a singers. I looked at her with disgust.

"Who are you?" I asked, maliciousness ringing in my voice. She smiled.

"Names are not of importance right now. But I know you're name. You're Jennifer Watson, fifteen. You, who love that meager fool, Sherlock Holmes. Who have meddled in my affairs long enough. You saved that idiot's life! He would be out of my way were it not for you," she said, no longer acting cheerful. Suddenly, her whole demeanor changed.

"Tell me, does he miss his darling mother?" she asked. I was surprised at this change of subject and looked at her suspiciously.

"Why do you care to know?" I asked. She smiled once more.

"Just tell me," she said.

"Yes, he does. Very much," I replied, regretting it almost instantly. This woman could use it against him!

"Tell him, if you live that is, that I'm sorry," she whispered, a curious sound of woe resonating in her high voice. I stared at her.

"What do you know of Holmes' mother?" I asked. Holmes had told me little of his mother.

"Ah, so you wish to speak of her? Very well. She was beautiful, very beautiful. She was kind and loving, even to her husband, that wretch of a man. She loved her son the most, though. She thought Sherlock was the most precious thing in the world. She knew her husband was directly related to the famous Sherlock Holmes, and so she named Sherlock after him. She left the family when Sherlock was young. I don't remember when. She was hurt in a car accident. Glass pierced her face, disfiguring her and making her ugly. No one could bear to look at her. Her pain was surreal. She wasn't sad about the fact that her husband disowned her, only that her beautiful face was gone. Forever. Surgeons could do nothing. The opera house she had belonged to wouldn't let her come back. She was doomed. I killed her," the woman stopped her narrative. I launched myself at this murderer, the one who had caused so much pain to the Holmes family, even Holmes' father. She caught me in mid-leap.

"I don't think so Jennifer. I am afraid to get the information I need out of you, I'm going to have to tie you down, something I did not wish to do," she said, placing me in a chair and winding rope around me.

"Information?" I asked. She stood and dusted her hands off.

"Well, yes. You see, I am a leader for criminals. I was the one who directed my minion to poison Holmes, although he was quite happy to carry it out. A little to happy, one would think... I lead half of the crime in this city. Haven't you figured it out yet? I am Marie Moriarty!" she announced. I gasped. This lady was a descendant of Professor James Moriarty, the Holmes' enemy. She laughed at my surprised look.

"Just as you are the descendant of John Watson, and Sherlock the descendant of Sherlock Holmes, there must be someone to take Moriarty's place, sadly enough. Isn't it sad how history repeats itself?" Marie asked. I was shocked at this woman's delusion.

"You're mad! Stark raving mad! History doesn't have to repeat itself, you know it doesn't!" I cried. Her mouth pulled downward into a dark frown.

"You are quite correct, Miss Watson, but I believe it must. The world must be rid of pests like Sherlock Holmes. But I promise you, Holmes won't go over the falls of Reichenbach. No, indeed, it must be something a little more eloquent than that. Perhaps suicide... yes that would do nicely. But lets put that aside for right now," she said. I couldn't let go of what she said, though.

"If history is to repeat itself, than perhaps you should watch yourself! Moriarty was killed, not Holmes!" I yelled. Her hand flew and I felt it connect with my face. She calmly rubbed her hand.

"Indeed, he did. But I also believe history does not have to follow it's events directly. There may be small changes, such as who dies, but I do believe I said we are to ignore that for right now!" she retorted angrily, losing whatever calm she had. She turned her back to me and looked at the door.

"I think Mr. Holmes gave you some papers the other night. Give them to me," she said. I glanced at her rigid back, and quickly made up my mind.

"I do not know what you are talking about. Holmes kicked me out of his house before he gave me anything," I responded coolly. Sher whirled around.

"Give them to me, or I will not be held responsible for my actions!" she screamed. I winced at her fury, but withheld.

"If I had these papers that you speak of, why do you wish for them with such a vengeance?" I inquired. If she was to keep me here, I might as well learn something.

She began to pace around the room. "They hold the history of the Holmes family, every single little detail, including one clue that would give all my efforts away. I wish to read and then destroy," she barked, all pleasantries gone from her voice. I sighed.

"I'm sorry, but I do not have them," I muttered. She pulled out a knife.

"So help me God, I will use this if you do not give them to me," she said, her voice still and calm, pointing the knife not even an inch from my nose.

"I don't have them," I repeated. She screamed with pain, anger, and a touch of anguish and threw the knife neatly into the wall. Marie turned and stormed out of the room, slammed the door, and left me to my own devices. I sighed, glad to see that the knife was not sticking into me.

"Well, that went well, didn't it?" I said to myself.

A chunk of the wall fell to the wall, the knife protruding from it ironically.

This persisted for days. It became painstakingly obvious Marie was insane. But under her anger there was and undertone of bitterness and bewilderment. She obviously didn't want to harm me, I became aware of that the second day of my containment. She hurt me by slapping me, and that was all. Until the third day of my containment.

"Good day Miss Watson. I see you have slept well?" Marie entered the room, holding no obvious weapon. I sneered at her.

"But of course, Miss Moriarty," I began. She raised a finger to her lips.

"I realize that you become impatient of you containment here. I apologize, of course, but I really do need those papers. As much as I loath to say this, if you do not give them to me by tomorrow, I'll have to have the liberty of bringing your precious Holmes here," she said, smiling. I tensed, all remarks gone from my tongue. Thinking quickly, I laughed derisively.

"Holmes would never come here," I answered. This time she laughed.

"Oh my dear. You have not seen him in three days. You do not know how he feels. He has become most frantic without you. He suffers, my dear. He will fall into any trap we lay for him. I am certain of it," she said. That was the end of our conversation, as she continued to pry the papers out of me.

Two hours later she left, paperless as ever. And so began the long wait for the next interrogation to begin. 

It never came.

One hour after Marie had left, I heard a sharp tapping on the window of my prison. I couldn't well see, for my back was to the window, but I craned my neck backwards. Holmes was carefully opening the window. Overjoyed, I nearly let out a shriek.

"Now then, Watson. I highly doubt you wish for your guards to here us, so I recommend you not making a sound," he whispered as he slid his long body through the window. I did as he requested and kept silent as he cut loose my bonds with the knife (still on the floor trapped in a bit of the wall). When he had freed me, I jumped into his arms.

"Oh Holmes! It is so good to see you," I whispered exuberantly. I felt his tense body relax, all though he still refrained from putting his arms around me.

"Yes yes yes. Come along now. Your mother is very worried," he said, pulling himself away and lifting me up through the window. I glanced behind me as we walked down the sidewalk. I was free from my imprisonment.

*************************************************************************************************

Holmes questioned me relentlessly as we walked swiftly toward my house. He asked multiple questions, but the most frequent was if they had harmed me. Finally, directly outside of my house he turned and asked one last question.

"Do you know who your captor was?" he asked. I nodded.

"Marie Moriarty," I replied. Holmes when dreadfully pale and stared at me.

"Are you positive?" Holmes asked. I nodded. Holmes turned and ran for his house, leaving me to puzzle about his behavior. 


	6. Forces Separated

Halleluiah! The sixth part of my story! Ok, quick overview, I might as well give one. A future Holmes and Watson meet, they become best friends (near lovers, might I also add). Holmes has gotten poisoned, Watson shot at, and Watson was captured and interrogated over something Holmes gave her. He rescued her, only to find out that Marie Moriarty was her captor. He is shocked, and it is in this chapter we find out why, and what was exactly in those files Holmes gave Watson, and why they're so important. I don't own anything. And I swore some in this chapter. So, without further ado...

Chapter Six: Forces Separated

Holmes behavior baffled me. I couldn't figure out what was wrong with him. He was extremely upset about Marie, even more than he would have been had she of just been an enemy. She must be something more, I decided. Then I remembered. Holmes' mother had been killed by her. Holmes thought she was living in America though....

The next day at school would prove to be most eventful, however.

Holmes avoided me all through morning classes, despite my very forceful attempts to get him to talk to me. Finally, during lunch, I cornered him.

"All right Holmes. What is up with you?" I asked as I sat down. He looked up from his tea quickly and set it down.

"Watson, had you have looked at all the things I have given you, you might of come up with a conclusion by now. It's all there. Just read, and use your eyes. Now, excuse me. Miss Ruipe would like to see me. Something about my essay on footprints," Holmes stated and rose from our table.

He perplexed me. He said I had everything I needed, but all he had given me was family files and his mother's necklace.

"Wait a minute..."

I ran home from school as fast as I possibly could. My mother was shocked as I ran past her and slammed the door to my room.

I flopped down and pulled out the files and necklace, which lay in my desk drawer. Curling up on my bed, I pulled out the first page of documents. It read as followed:

"Sherlock Robert Holmes was born on January 6th, 1854, seven years younger than his only brother, Mycroft Holmes. He was born to Violett Holmes and Richard Holmes. He had a troubled childhood, and his father disowned him when Sherlock decided to become a consulting detective. Sherlock Holmes met John Watson M.D. and had many adventures with him, all chronicled by faithful Watson,"

I knew this. I didn't want to read this. This was like general information and I didn't care for that. I flipped to the next page and found something's of interest. They read as followed:

"Sherlock Holmes fell in love but once, with a beautiful young lady named Irene Adler. Indeed, she had married, but as her husband had died recently, she sought for condolences. She received them from Sherlock and they had there first child on December 15th, 1892. They named him Robert Alan Holmes. Unfortunately, Holmes was called back into the living world (as pretending to be dead), and never witnessed the birth of his daughter, Rachel Lee Holmes. She was killed at the age of fourteen in a horrible hansom accident. Robert lived to formally meet his father many times, until Sherlock's death in 1932. Sherlock was 78, was shot while on a case, and died in a hospital only hours later, next to his son, wife, and grandchildren. The man who shot him was never found."

So that was what happened to Sherlock Holmes. It was a tragic story, actually. I decided to read up on Robert, but only briefly.

"Robert Holmes was only 40 when his father died, and was devastated. His twin children, Rebecca and Brian Holmes were shocked and dismayed at there grandfathers quick departure from the world, and Irene Adler ended up killing herself on July 7th, 1933. Robert lived to be 76 before dying with his wife on there way to the United States. There plane crashed."

Ouch. The Holmes history was not turning out to be a good one. I flipped to the next page and saw a combination of both Rebecca and Brian.

"Rebecca and Brian Holmes were married early on in there life, Rebecca to a peasant named Joseph McCaulender, a jolly Irishman. She drowned when she was but forty four, and never had any children. Brian Holmes married a beautiful woman named Serephina Vernum. She was Latin, and had a very exotic touch to her. She bore him one son, whom they named Charles Daniel Holmes. Brian and Serephina lived to be 80, before dying of leukemia and polio."

"_Well, at least they weren't killed"_ I reflected. Flipping the page, I saw a picture of Brian, Rebecca and Serephina. Rebecca and Serephina were both beauties, and Brian Holmes was very handsome. I turned the page to read of Charles Holmes, who was Holmes' grandfather.

"Charles Daniel Holmes was a kind, compassionate man who wrote poetry for a living. He never raised his voice, nor ever struck someone. Charles married the widow Samantha Fowler, who was 30. He was 26. They gave birth to two children, Franklin Ryan Holmes and his younger sister, Mary Jessica Holmes. Charles and Samantha died in a car accident in 1962. Franklin was an impenitent young man, ruthless and heartless, the exact opposite of his beautiful sister Mary. Mary was a shy and gentle young woman. Franklin was very jealous of his sister, and condemned her to a life in hell by driving her insane when she was 22. She spent the rest of her life in a mental asylum, and is still there to this day. Franklin went against his families desires when he turned 25, by marrying a young woman that the family had serious doubts about. Her name was Marie Moriarty."

I stopped and stared at the firm writing on the page in horror. This was the secret Holmes had kept from me? Oh, I could tell why. His own mother, my captor? It was to horrible to think about. I couldn't think it to be true. I decided to finish the writing, which lasted only one more page.

"Marie proved to be a very capable and benevolent woman. Her beauty surpassed all the other woman's, and she sung at an opera house. Franklin fell in love with her, and they married. She gave birth to two children, the oldest a female named Irene Rachel Holmes, after her husbands ancestors. She named her son Sherlock Samuel Holmes, after Sherlock Holmes himself. Alas, disaster struck the family. Marie was horribly disfigured in a car accident, continuing the families horrible luck. She left the family because her husband could not bear to look at her. Irene herself disappeared, apparently leaving England all together. She was never found. Franklin turned into a hateful, bitter man, who despises his son."

That was the last the papers said. I couldn't bear to think of Marie my captor though. She was cruel and insane. Holmes wasn't like that. I decided that the papers lied.

"They have to," I said aloud, "Even Franklin wouldn't dare marry a Moriarty." I picked up the necklace Holmes had given me. It was beautiful, with a gleaming sapphire set in silver, surrounded by ten diamonds. I flipped it over to the back and dropped it in surprise. There, on the silver, lay my friends mothers initials.

M.M.

I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. Why hadn't Holmes told me? Did he think I would hate him? I jumped from my bed and began pacing restlessly around my room. It was after midnight, and I hadn't even bothered to call Holmes and yell at him for not telling me.

"Excuse me, Watson, if you don't mind, could you please help me in?" came a gentle and quiet voice. Stiffening a scream in my throat and turned to yell at Holmes. The words died in my throat.

Holmes had been beaten up, and badly from the looks of it. He had a cut running down his cheek, and his normally clean clothes were splattered in mud and-was that blood? I pulled him in through my window.

"Holmes, what in the world happened?" I hissed. He smiled and ruefully wiped some blood of his cheek.

"Jeffrey. The little louse jumped me. He had a knife on him," he said. I gaped at him and sat him down on my bed.

"Why didn't you go home? Did you fight back? What happened? Where are you hurt?" I rattled. He laughed softly.

"I didn't go home because father locked my window from the inside. Besides, he wouldn't understand. Yes, I fought back and gave him a thorough trouncing, after I realized I wasn't just distracting him. I was walking home after searching for something at your prison. He was drunk, I think, and couldn't recognize me. Either that, or he didn't choose to recognize me. Either way, he got the worst of it, and will be regretting the day he crossed my path. As for where I'm hurt, I'm not sure," he said, answering my questions in rapid succession. I looked into his eyes and sighed.

"Take off your shirt. I think he got a deep cut across your chest," I explained as he had the appearance of a person who had just been asked to stick his head into an untrained lions head.

"I don't believe I should," he finally replied, after covering his look of dismay.

"Oh, just shut up and take it off!" I whispered furiously. Fortunately, he knew better than to deal with a woman's anger, and unbuttoned his shirt quickly. 

I was shocked at the asymmetrical cuts that ran down his back and chest (after I got over seeing him without his shirt. Yep, I definitely had a crush on him). They were long and irregular, with mud in some, and just clean cuts on another. Holmes sat obediently still as I ran a hand over the cuts.

"Oh gosh Holmes. This is horrible. What kind of knife did he have?" I asked. He shuddered.

"A hunting knife, I believe. Deadly sharp," he said, his voice cold. I stood and pulled a first aid kit out of my closet. 

"Sit still while I put this peroxide on you. It may sting a bit," I gently said. He nodded, but tensed as the burning sensation touched him.

"Remind me if I get hurt to come to you. You're a very good nurse," he said between clenched teeth as I prodded the cuts to see how deep they ran.

"Doctor," I corrected absently.

"What was that?"

"I want to be a doctor, not a nurse."

"Oh."

The next few minutes were filled with silence, except for the occasional sharp intake of breath and the quick 'Sorry' that followed it. Finally, after about ten minutes, the cuts were cleaned. At least, those on his back and chest.

"Now what are we going to do about that face one?" I asked him. He shrugged. I grabbed his chin with my hand and tilted it toward the light as to see better.

"It's not that deep, thank heavens. You might end up with a scar but it won't be that noticeable," I told him. His cold hand reached out and held mine to his face for a minute. Finally I pulled away.

"I'll be right back. I want to get some milder peroxide for your face. Change into the pajama's you left here last time if you want. You're spending the night," I said, standing. 

I walked down to the bathroom and pulled out the mild peroxide. I glanced at myself in the mirror. I could still feel Holmes' hand against mine.

"_Stop it Jenny. He's your patient right now. Doctors don't have relationships with there patients"_ a nagging voice in my head said.

_"Yeah, but we were friends first. Is it wrong to love the person you're only now treating?"_ the logical part of me said. I quickly shook the thoughts from my head and went to go aid my friend.

Holmes hadn't changed into his pajamas. He was holding the necklace he had given me (which I had left on the floor). He looked up as I entered the room. Holmes smiled sadly.

"So, you figured it out, did you?" he whispered, pain ringing in his voice. I looked down.

"Well, yes. But I'm not angry! Just sad you didn't tell me," I said, pushing on his shoulders so I could see his face properly. He finally sat down and looked up at me.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't," he responded simply. I shrugged.

"What's done is done. No use living in the past," I said, applying the peroxide to his face. He stared at me.

"What?" I asked, putting the cap on the bottle. He stood quickly and cupped my face in his hands and kissed me. Shocked, I almost took a step back. The kiss was light and didn't last long, but in it bespoke a passion which rarely radiated off Holmes. Our kiss broke after only a few seconds, but it left me breathless. 

"Whoa," I said, when I finally found my voice. Holmes blushed and looked at the ground.

"Whoa," I repeated, but this time he looked at me.

"Whoa, I liked that," I said after another pause. Holmes smiled shyly. I pulled him into a hug, careful of his back.

"Thanks Holmes. I really liked that," I whispered. I could feel him smile.

"Think of it as an early birthday present, for both of us," he murmured. I smiled up at him and pulled him onto the bed. He sat down at my side and looked at me.

"Now, as for the case. I found some very interesting things about my mo-Marie. She doesn't have much of a record, but I have reason to believe that she does in fact lead half of the crime in this city. I spoke to Danny again, then turned to my good friend, Raze. She gave me much to work with," he said. I frowned.

"Raze?" I asked. He smiled.

"I don't believe you've met the Baker Street Irregulars yet, have you? You'll meet them tomorrow, I promise. She is the leader of one of the small gangs. Her gang consists of her, Thomas, 'Livia, Jimmy, Lanta and Roberto. Nice kids," he said thoughtfully. I nodded.

"What'd she tell you?" I asked. He sighed.

"There was a murder, about two months before you arrived. Two young men murdered. The man whom I suspected did it never confessed, but Raze heard him talking about it a couple of nights ago. She said that he was saying how 'his boss, Marie, was quite pleased at how he didn't get caught, and if he kept it up he would get promoted to her third-in-command'. I told Raze I wanted to know who her second in command was, and she said she'd send Thomas on it," he said. I lay down at full length on my bed.

"Did we get anything substantial enough to lead us to where she is?" I asked. He shook his head.

"Not yet. Tomorrow we'll be out with Raze, Jimmy and Thomas. They're the best, and we'll probably find enough from them to last us a few days of bafflement. But for now I suggest you go to sleep. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow," Holmes said, standing. I grabbed onto his hand.

"Stay, at least until I fall asleep," I said. He sighed.

"All right. But you'd better fall asleep quickly," he said. But he had hardly said it before I was asleep.

I groaned and rolled over, to see a peacefully sleeping Holmes laying down next to me. I smiled at him. I was surprised he had fallen asleep next to me, because he seemed pretty irritated that I had asked him to stay.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!!!" came a yelling voice. I leapt from my bed and Holmes started to full awareness. My mothers enraged face awaited us.

"Oh, God, mom, it's not what you think!" I said quickly. She whirled around at me.

"You had SEX!" she screamed. I pulled away from her.

"Ewww. No way mom! I'm only fifteen!" I said, appalled. Holmes stared at her, fear in his face. My mom turned to him.

"AND YOU YOUNG MAN! What did you do? Force her to bed with you!" my mother shrieked. Holmes backed away.

"Never, Mrs. Watson. I have utter respect for your daughter, and would never do that to her," he answered. She stared at him, then turned to me.

"So, you went along WILLINGLY!" she yelled again. I screamed back at her this time, forgetting to try to stay calm.

"WE DID NOT HAVE SEX! PLEASE MOM, I HAVE MORE SENSE THAN THAT!" I yelled. My mother blew up at that.

"SHUT UP! Mr. Holmes, I suggest you stop seeing my daughter. In fact, if you come near my daughter again, I'll have to inform the police. Get out of here," she said, her voice cold and mean. Holmes stared at her.

"Didn't you hear me? GET OUT!" she screamed. Holmes ran out of the house as fast as he could. As soon as he had left my mother turned to me.

"Oh, Jennifer. I thought you were smart. Until I see some responsibility shown, you're grounded," she said. I looked at her.

"When can I see Holmes again?" I asked. She glared at me.

"Never. Never again will I let you see him. You're little forces are separated."

*************************************************************************************************

I walked to school that day full of despondency and consternation. I muttered under my breath multiple curses at my mother when someone stopped me with a gently sardonic voice.

"I don't think your mother would like what you're saying about her," Holmes said, materializing from the shade of a tree. I frowned.

"I can't see you, remember. But forget my mother. I'll swear at her all I want," I said angrily. He walked along side me in silence.

"Did you really expect me to stop seeing you?" he asked suddenly, cracking the fragile silence between us. I shrugged.

"I wasn't sure. I hoped you wouldn't," I responded. He smiled and hugged me.


	7. The Baker Street Irregulars

The seventh chapter! I'm so happy I've made it this far! I've had excellent reviews, much to my pleasure, and wish to thank all those who have reviewed. I will not name them, for that would take up time. But thank you, all. I would, however, like to thank my best friend whom is referred to as Goth_Flutist. She gave me a few of the ideas for my last chapter, and has been very supportive of my work. This is my first chapter that I'm going to write without my numerous notes, so pray that it may be good. I'm working with music this time, and that always helps, so it might be adequate. Enjoy! (I own nuthin', I swear- Something Danny might say).

Chapter Seven: The Baker Street Irregulars

I spent the day in classes, avoiding Holmes as was the plan. We had decided on the way to school to honor my mom's forceful request, or at least make it seem that way. We would meet in secret, I telling my mom I was at a friends house studying, and Holmes would just disappear.

I left the school quietly and met Holmes in the place we had decided. He had missed last class, and I wondered where he was. However, as I entered the grove of tree's we had selected, it became rather obvious.

Holmes leaned against a tree, but he wasn't alone. There were three females and three males with him.

The first girl, and presumably the oldest, had blue hair with blond roots. She had dyed her hair. Her eyes were a queer color, more purple than an honest blue. She wore a pink top that was high necked, but the bottom of the shirt only reached her ribs. Her pants were purple with red flames and you could see a green bikini bottom sticking out of it. She stepped forward with a cocky manner and stuck out her hand. Reluctantly, I took it.

"My name is Jennifer Watson," I said, all manners and charm. She cracked up.

"See here, Mr. 'olmes. Ye never said she were such a laidee," said the girl, laughing. I rose to my full height in anger. She smiled though, this one friendly.

"Sorry about that Missus Watson. Me names Rachel 'Raze' Sicano. Ye may call me Raze. I'm the leader of this 'ere gang," she said. I smiled at her uncertainly. Raze pushed a tall, handsome man in my direction.

"This here is Thomas. He's our eyes of the group, ye might say. More of a spy than the rest 'o' us," Raze said. Thomas, who wore a black business suit, black tie, black shoes, and black sunglasses, stuck his hand out. I shook it.

"Tis a pleasure to meet you Missus Watson. Mr. Holmes has told us much about you," he said shyly. I smiled at him, noticing he didn't speak with a Cockney accent, as did Raze. The next person I met was a girl, about a year younger than me.

"My name is Olivia. Olivia 'Livia' Murvan. I'm referred to as 'Livia, but you may call me what you will," the girl said. She was perhaps the plainest of the group, with straight brown hair and a simple dress, which was a sweater and skirt, essentially. She was obviously very shy, and hadn't come from this country. Sweden, perhaps? Next came a young lady with a dark complexion. She looked Indian, and her dark curls were pinned to the back of her head.

"Oi, Missus Watson. Tis only the best to finally meet yer. Me name is Jimmy. Only Jimmy," the girl said. She was about six, but very bold. I stared at her.

"Jimmy?" I asked. She growled angrily and spit on the ground.

"Me mum was obsessed with this musical called "Cats". Me real name is Jemima," she snarled. I nodded and backed away. Next I was introduced to Lanta and Roberto. Lanta had a large head, unsuited for his body, and was from America. His red hair stuck out in every direction, but he was generally well liked among them, as far as I could tell. Roberto was peevishly handsome, with dark hair, dark skin, dark eyes... the classic looks for a lover. He was eight, however, and didn't speak a word of English.

After the introductions were made between us all, Holmes stepped forward.

"All right then. Now that the introductions have been made, I'd like to split up into groups so I could figure out who I'm hunting. I want Watson, Raze and Jimmy in a group, and Lanta, Roberto, and 'Livia in a group. Thomas and I will work together. Shall we meet back here around seven, then?" Holmes said, taking command. Raze stepped forward.

"But 'o' course Mr. 'olmes. Yer know we have no time to be 'ome. We ain't got no 'ome!" Raze laughed. Holmes smiled at her, and we split apart.

Raze was very bold, I noticed right away. She walked with a very sure step, and smiled at everyone. Jimmy, however, scowled much of the time, and was generally nasty to everyone, except Holmes. Even Raze couldn't control her.

Our first stop was a bar. A sleazy type, one that would have given me a turn had I not been helping with a case. Raze was very familiar with it, however. We stopped outside the door, and she smiled.

"Now then, Missus Watson. As sure as am 'bout yer detective skills, someone will be sure to recognize yer as Mr. 'olmes' friend. I suggest a little makeup, just enough to make yer look odd," she said, pulling out a case from her pocket. Jimmy snickered, but I couldn't figure out why as Raze began applying makeup.

Raze finished five minutes later and stepped back, satisfied with her work. I gasped as I looked into the mirror she had handed me. I looked horrible. Bloodshot eyes, blacked out teeth, bruises, my hair in disarray, and dirty nails were only a few things changed. Jimmy smiled up at me.

"Your name, eh? How 'bout... Trixie?" Jimmy asked, although it wasn't really a question. I was to dumbfounded to speak and just nodded. 

We entered the bar and summoned the barmaid. She took us to a table and we were seated.

Raze smiled up at the hideous girl who was our 'waitress'.

"What do yer got fer me, Rubes? Anythin' on our precious cargo?" Raze asked. The waitress shook her head.

"If you want the info, Rachel, you'd best go to Jack. He's in the corner, waiting for you. Whose this little urchin you've brought in?" the girl asked, turning to me. I looked at her, trying to think of what a Trixie would do.

"My name is Trixie. I ain't no urchin, neither," I said, lowering my voice and making it harsh. The girl smiled and walked away. As soon as she was gone I turned to Raze.

" 'Precious cargo'? What is that?" I questioned, stupefied. Raze rolled her eyes.

"Rubes is in on the business, Missus Watson. Precious cargo is slang fer our suspect. Jack is our informant on the crime world. He just don't know that we work for Mr. 'olmes. He wouldn't 'elp if he knew it," Raze answered. I shrugged, still rather confused. Jimmy stood up and went over to some boy in the corner as Raze went over to a large, bulky man in the corner. I followed her, not quite sure of what to do.

"Hello there Jack. Got info on whose out to murder that scoundrel 'olmes yet?" Raze cheerfully asked, sitting in a large iron chair. The man grunted.

"What do ya got for me, Raze," Jack asked. She pulled out a couple of shillings and tossed them onto the table. Jack pocketed them and pulled out a manila folder.

"Pictures, not much else. Woman, wears a mask. Boy, younger than you, this young lady's age, works for her. Goes by the name 'Yerffej'. It's code, of course. I got him giving the woman something, and the lady giving him drugs. Also, one of him standing inside the gym aiming a gun. He wears a mask though, you won't figure out much. I know ya want to pay him, for what that b****** Holmes did to your family, but nothing can come from these pictures," Jack said, tossing her the folder. Raze looked at them in silence, then smiled.

"Thank yer Jack. Ye've been of mighty good help today," Raze replied. She folded the packet and stuffed it into her jacket pocket and walked away. Jimmy joined us at the doorway of the establishment.

"Rodger said that some boy has it out for Mr. 'olmes, and has been working under orders from Marie to kill him. Although he was all to happy to oblige," Jimmy said. Raze nodded and handed me the packet.

"Give these to Mr. 'olmes, will yer? He'll figure much from em, I know," Raze said. I nodded and followed them down the street.

Hours later I met up with Holmes outside his house. He was staring at the "For Sale" sign disdainfully. 

"Well Holmes. How was your days worth of investigations?" I asked kindly. He started and looked at me.

"Not very productive, Watson, I fear. All I got was "Some boy" and "works for a lady". I bloody well knew that already," Holmes rumbled. I nodded sympathetically.

"We didn't get much more, Holmes. We did get pictures though, of the man. He is called 'Yerffej'. Odd name, is it not? He always wears a mask though, and Raze said there was little to deduce from them," I replied, handing him the packet. I saw a flicker of hope light up in his eye.

"Ah, but we can always figure out something, even if it will just give us one thing. It might tell us everything, or it might tell us nothing. Never assume anything," Holmes countered. He pulled out the pictures and flipped through them rapidly, barely glancing at them before moving onto the next picture. Finally, he put the pictures back into the folder with an air of satisfaction.

"Superb. Positively superb. Another night, Watson, and I may have just solved this mystery!"


	8. Conflict

Hi! I'm down to the last couple of chapters. Hey, I'm sorry for making Yerffej so obvious, but I'm young, give me a break. Really, I'm REALLY young. So anyway, people seem to enjoy my twists so far, and I'm adding a new one (let's see how you take this one, eh!) Please r/r, and I appreciate all those who did. Thanks to Goth_Flutist for finally getting me moving (she's from my school, could you tell from her review?) Also, thanks to hannah holmes for telling me that the British use pennies now (my dictionary is a bit outdated. It's from the forties) I'm from America, and am not told any of this stuff. If any of you want to correct me on anything else, feel free. Anyway, here is the newest chapter, and sadly, one of the last. P.S.: Want me to write a sequel? I got one in mind, but I want to know if you want me to.

Chapter Eight: Conflict

Holmes spent a quarter of a day working out the clues. He told me he knew who Yerffej was, but didn't have enough evidence to put him behind bars. I, however, was left in the dark. I'm not that dense, but I just couldn't figure it out.

I spent the remainder of the weekend thinking things over, like the clues. A boy whose nickname is Yerffej, about our age, a little shorter than Holmes, has income, possibly drugs, lives with mom, mom has dyed hair, goes to Danny's to steal guns... it just didn't add up. Unfortunately, the clues wouldn't add up for a long time, due to what happened that week.

On Tuesday morning, while hanging around outside the school, a disaster happened.

While discussing the clues and multiple twists and turns of the case, a long car pulled up to the school. A limo, to be exact. Out stepped one of the prettiest girls I have ever seen.

Her hair was gold in color, and was obviously not dyed. She had green eyes, was really tall, and walked with flair and elegance. All the boys stared at her, but she seemed to be looking around for someone. Suddenly, she spotted me and Holmes standing by the school and came running over. She jumped into Holmes' arms and kissed him square on the lips.

"Oh, Sherlock! Did you miss me? Your girlfriend is back in town!" she cried. My books clattered to the ground. The girl looked at me and smiled.

"Oh, hello. My name is Olivia Cardia (A.N.: Recognize this?). I am a transfer student from France. May I ask who you are?" she said with beautiful English, but it had a French accent. I stared at her, my body numb. Holmes seemed as shocked as I was, and was turning a shade paler with every word she spoke. I finally got up the courage to speak.

"Trust me, I'm nobody," I said heatedly. I picked up my books, along with my shattered dignity, and walked away from Holmes, who stared after me.

That day at lunch, I sat all by myself, away from that ditz Olivia. She spoke rapidly, and seemed obsessed with clothes and makeup. All through lunch, I could see Holmes nodding at her every five seconds, looking extremely bored. He glanced over at me a lot, but I pretended to be interested in the school cafeteria's mystery meat. Through chemistry, English, French, Band (I play clarinet, Holmes plays violin), and P.E. I ignored him and his girlfriend. I didn't talk to him, and I acted angry. In truth, I was just very hurt that he would do such a thing to me. He told me that he didn't have a girlfriend, ever. But it was obvious he did, and if Sherlock Holmes wanted her, than he would only get her, and not me.

That night Holmes called. I hung up on him. But I couldn't keep the window locked, and Holmes managed to get in that way. I turned my back to him instantly.

"I refuse to speak to you, Sherlock, so you mightn't want to try," I declared. I heard him sigh and sag against the wall.

"Well, then don't speak. Just listen," he replied. I whirled around furiously.

"Listen? You expect me to LISTEN? You listen! You lied to me. You said you never had a girlfriend. You never mentioned her before? Is that the reason I played a French girl in our undercover thing? Was that why you gave me the name Olivia Cardia? Did you think you could keep her from cropping up somewhere? Because if you did, then you are dead wrong if you think that I'm going to listen to YOU!" I shouted. Thankfully, mom wasn't home, and wouldn't here this conversation, as we were supposed to never see each other again. Holmes stared at me.

"Yes, I admit I lied to you. But it was an accident. Olivia and I met when she came to London as a foreign exchange student. I fell in love with her, and she fell in love with me. She went back to Nimes that summer, and I never saw her again. I FORGOT ABOUT HER! It wasn't true love. I made you speak French because you suck at it, and I don't know why I gave you the name Olivia Cardia. I just recognized it from somewhere, and gave it to you. This isn't my fault!" he explained with urgency. I turned.

"Well, obviously you were a lot more than just small lovers. Holmes, she kissed you harder than I've kissed you! And she hasn't seen you for how many years?" I asked.

"Three."

"Exactly my point. You should remember to tell me these little details. And another thing, you've kept me completely in the dark about this entire case! I still don't know who what's-his-name is! You are selfish, that's what you are Holmes! And utterly, utterly stupid!" I screeched. That did it. I had hit his pride, his joy, his intelligence. He turned quickly and slapped me across the face. Shocked, I fell to the ground. He looked appalled, stared as his hand, then turned to me.

"Oh, God, Jenny, I'm so sorry. I am so, so sorry. I didn't mean..." he trailed off, staring at me. I glared at him.

"Get out," I whispered. He groaned.

"Oh God Jenny. I really... I'm sorry..." he uttered. I got up from the ground.

"Get out of my house before I call the police," I said softly. And ever so slowly, he crawled out of the window. I heard from the ground a soft voice, with tears in it say "Adieu, my friend. Adieu."

Wednesday and Thursday were perhaps the hardest days of my life. I still loved Holmes, and a great deal. But he had hurt me, emotionally first, then physically. I noted, with satisfaction, that Olivia left him on Wednesday, and he now sat alone as I during lunch and class. On Friday, however, I gained a new friend.

I sat eating my lunch quietly, at a table near the front. I had grown accustomed to not talking during lunch, and was enjoying it immensely, when a girl sat down.

I remembered her as the sassy, bold, and spunky girl in my class who was very popular. Her name was Cherry Wallace, and everyone liked her. She had red hair with purple steaks, her glasses had purple lenses, her clothes were either bright purple or electric green, and she was very nice. Today, she chose to sit with me.

"Hey girlfriend. What's up?" she asked. I stared at her. Her American accent was overwhelming. I quickly placed her accent that of the New York area. She smiled at my stunned look.

"Well don't you look out of place? Guess you didn't know I was from America, did ya?" she asked, grinning. I quickly saw she had braces, with green and purple colors. 

"I suppose I didn't. Why aren't you sitting with your friends?" I asked. She smiled again.

"I don't know. I've wanted to get to know you, but you insisted about hanging out with Sherlock. Now that you two hate each other, you have no friends, and you're welcome to hang out with me," she said. I thought rapidly. Cherry was loud and obnoxious, and not the type of person I usually liked. But I was desperate. Putting on an award winning smile, and turned to her. "Why, certainly Cherry. I'd love to hang out with you."

Cherry was stupid. She was dumber than anyone I had ever seen in my entire life, including that idiot Jeffery. She was blonde, and had no grammatical sense at all. She was flunking every class, and only passed Physical Education, and only because she was a preppy, dumb, foolish cheerleader. But she was all right otherwise. I mean, who needed intelligence anyway.

"So, what do you think about science? I really liked learning about atoms. Who knew they were so interesting?" I said one day at lunch. Her friends looked at me.

"Atoms?" I sighed. I wasn't friends with them much longer, however.

On Thursday of the next week, I realized there little game. I was getting my books when Cherry came up behind me.

"Hey, Jenny? Don't sit with us tomorrow. You're not helping," she said nastily. I whirled around, shocked.

"What?" I asked, caught off guard. She sighed.

"My God Jenny. How stupid are you? We kept you around to tutor us. We might get kicked off cheer squad if we don't pass science. But nooo. You talked about it, but you never offered to do our homework, or at least give us your answers," she said. I stared at her.

"You mean, you kept me around for my science skills?" I questioned, infuriated. She nodded.

"Well duh. Did you think we were your friends or something? We didn't approach you when you were with that nerd Sherlock, 'cause he would see straight through our plan. You're just to dense to even realize it. It was simple," she giggled. I gaped at her.

"Holmes is not a nerd, nor am I stupid. You, however, are the stupidest cow I've ever met. And, if you even try to talk me into doing your homework, you can bet that I will beat the crap out of you. Now get away from me," I furiously responded. She shrugged.

"Whatever. Just remember, if you want your popularity to grow, don't go near Sherlock. He is such a loser," she said, turning.

Now, even when Holmes and I were friends, I never attacked anyone when they teased him. He didn't seem to care. But now, even though I thought I hated his guts, I couldn't stop myself. I launched myself at her.

The fight was simple. For being a cheerleader, she wasn't that strong. I hit her in the face a couple of times, and then the mouth, and finally the stomach. Fortunately for her, a teacher pulled me off her before I really got angry.

I groaned. Suspended! I was suspended! For a week! How in the world could I get suspended. Mom was going to blow a gasket.

I went into my room. I had spoiled the best friendship I had ever had. Holmes was gone, and wouldn't come back. I couldn't apologize, and he couldn't either. Our pride didn't allow it. I was grounded by my mother (big surprise) and went to my room. I flipped on my Enya CD, and put the track to number three.

__

Who can say where the road goes

where the day flows-only time

And who can say if your love grows

as you heart chose-only time

Who can say why your heart sighs

as your love flies-only time

And who can say why your heart cries

when you love lies-only time

Who can say when the roads meet

that love might be in your heart

And who can say when the day sleeps

if the night keeps all your heart

Night keeps all your heart

Who can say if your love grows

as your heart chose-only time

And who can say where the road goes

where the day flows-only time

Who knows-only time

Who knows-only time 

(Song called "Only Time", by Enya)

I burst out into tears and sobbed violently into my pillow. I pulled out the necklace Holmes had given me and looked at it. It gleamed magnificently in my lamplight, but it just made me feel worse. I threw the necklace into a corner of my room, and continued to cry, long into the night.

I woke up around midnight to the sound of my window opening. I leapt to my feet and assumed the karate stance (not like I knew karate). In stepped a tall figure. I switched on the light, making the figure howl. As the light shown upon his features I started.

"Holmes, what in the world are you doing here? Get out," I whispered. He glared at me.

"I'm here to apologize. I am very sorry for hitting you, and for not telling you about Olivia," he replied. I looked at him, and made the mistake of looking into his eyes. As soon as I saw them, I burst into tears again.

"How can you say you're sorry," I cried, stamping my foot on the ground angrily. He looked stricken, and awkwardly took me into his arms, petting me. Suddenly I laughed.

"What?" he asked, insulted. I giggled.

"You know Holmes, you shouldn't be this awkward around women. You have lots of experience with them, after all," I said, laughing into his chest. I felt him relax, as if I had given him an answer. Stopping my vicious sobbing almost instantly, I looked at him.

"Ok, are you going to tell me about the case? Like who Yerffej is?" I asked, all business. He rolled his eyes.

"Of course I will. First of all, Yerffej is-what's that?" Holmes stopped in mid sentence. Glancing out my window, I saw where he was looking. 

There was a factory about three streets away, abandoned years ago as it was considered unsafe. I had heard that criminals used it now, but I had never really looked into it. Holmes had seen someone head into the door, which was facing my window. I shrugged.

"I don't know. Probably nobody," I said. He glared with a hawks intensity at the disappearing figure.

"Nobody doesn't have that body shape or type. Come Watson! The game is afoot!" Holmes cried, climbing out of the window. I had no choice but to follow him. 


	9. The Final Fight

Boo hoo! This is the second to last chapter, and I'm hoping it will at least make your heart stop. Not literally, I can't write like that. Anyway, thanks to all those who have reviewed. This has been really fun to write, and I hope you all enjoyed it to. Quick review of last chap: Holmes old girlfriend comes back, Watson gets angry, W meets popular girl named Cherry, becomes friends with her, breaks up with her, becomes friends with H again, and follows as H pursues... someone. Well, enjoy this chapter, and hey, shed a few tears if you want. I hope you liked the song I put into the last story. Only Time is one of my favorite songs, and it's really sad, and it fit. So, here is the next chapter and I hope (as I have said) you all love it!

Chapter Nine: The Final Fight

I raced after Holmes, who had a good head start over me. He had always won foot races, and I was not in the best physical condition. Finally, I reached the old warehouse two minutes after Holmes, clutching a stitch in my side, and struggling to regulate my breath. I stepped inside, and was shocked at what I saw.

Jeffery stood with a gun pointing toward Holmes. My mind whirled.

_Jeffery? Why couldn't I see this? I am such an idiot, Yerffej is Jeffery spelled differently. Backwards, with an alteration of the letters. We're going to die._

Jeffery smiled and took a drag of the cigarette in his mouth.

"Miss Watson. I should of known you would follow. Please, step over with Mr. Holmes," he said casually. I sighed and walked over to Holmes. Holmes stared bitterly at Jeffery.

"Now then, Mr. Holmes. It looks as if your little friend could use some enlightening. As of how I nearly killed you and her," he said. I frowned. Holmes sighed.

"Jeffery is Charise's son. I never bothered to find out what her stupid son's name was. He was the one who gave his mother the drugs to put into my tea. Yes, it was drugs. A type of poisoned cocaine, if I'm not mistaken Jeffery?" Holmes asked. Jeffery nodded.

"Anyway. He was the one who fired at you in the gym, figuring if you died, I would kill myself. Plus, he was angry you saved me from the poison. And when he attacked me on the street, he wasn't drunk. He was fully coherent. The knife he used was Danny's hunting knife. The one he stole. He used his mother's hair pin. Jeffery is a well known drug smuggler, and my mo- Marie's third in command," Holmes said. I sighed again. Jeffery laughed.

"Well done Mr. Holmes. Miss Moriarty didn't lie when she said you had excellent detective skills. Sadly, the great detectives days must come to an end someday. And that someday." Jeffery cocked the gun.

"Is now."

Jeffery aimed the gun. Then he smiled.

"I'm sorry. I have to have a cigarette first," he said. I smirked. Jeffery's weakness for cigarettes would be his undoing. As he light the match, I pounced upon him. The match fell to the ground, lighting the multiple papers on fire. Jeffery threw me aside. I landed roughly against the wall. As I rose, I saw Holmes jump at Jeffery. Jeffery caught his sparse body and threw it also, but Holmes was not as easily subdued as I. He stood immediately and punched Jeffery in the mouth. Jeffery returned it with one in the stomach. Soon, they became a whirlwind of fists and kicks. Then the fight turned unfair.

Jeffery pulled out the wicked hunting knife, already stained with Holmes' blood. I gasped as Jeffery approached Holmes. I screamed.

Holmes caught Jeffery's arm, flipped him over, and the knife went skittering into a dark corner. One, two, three more kicks and Jeffery was out cold.

The fire burned around us, and we were nearly surrounded. I ran over to Holmes.

"What are we going to do?" I yelled over the crackling of the flames.

"You will do nothing," said the cold, insane voice I recognized. Then, the cold fire of Jeffery's hunting knife was pressed up against my skin. I froze as Marie continued to talk.

"Ah, Sherlock. I'm so glad you've come. I was hoping to see my son before I killed him. I wanted to talk to you," she said. I stood stick still, watching Holmes. His face was frozen in an expression of regret and hatred mixed.

"Oh come now my dear. Don't look like that. I know you're angry. But can't you forgive your old mother?" Marie asked, all innocence and kindness. I shuddered. Holmes would give in. His mother had been gone since he was ten. And to hear the love and gentleness in her voice...

"Mother. I've missed you. Please, don't do this," Holmes said, his voicing shaking a little. She laughed, her laugh filled with the sadness and pain that only she could feel.

"My son, do you know what I've gone through? Do you know the pain I've felt? You're stupid father hated me, because of my face. If only I'd never left. If only I hadn't gotten into that car. At least I kept you safe," she said, her voice cracking. I felt the tears streaming down my face. This woman, the monster who had tortured me, was human, and felt pain. She loved Holmes, but couldn't come back. Her face kept her from her son, and it hurt to even think about it. Suddenly Holmes lunged forward and yanked the mask off. Marie turned away violently, and I felt my arm snap in her grasp. Our screams echoed together. 

"How dare you! My face, this hideous face! You desired to see, and now you shall! Look upon it!" screamed Marie. Her face was covered in black scars, and horizontal cuts. But underneath the scars, you could see the true beauty of a woman who once lived. Marie Holmes was dead now, according to her, but she could live. If she tried. 

I curled up with my broken arm, whimpering. Marie smiled.

"Child, do you fear my face?" she asked maliciously. I shook my head.

"Your face is not horrible. You broke my arm, you monster. And just when I thought you might be half human," I spat. She snarled and leapt at me. I grimaced, waiting for her weight to slam on me. It never came. I looked up and saw Holmes had intercepted her. The fought now, the flames close to them. I stared in horror as Holmes refused to hurt her, merely shoved her off his long body. Marie pulled the knife from the flames, not minding her blistering hands. She screamed angrily and raised the knife. I shrieked in horror as the knife slammed into Holmes. He didn't make a single sound, just stared at Marie.

"Mother?" he asked, dumbfounded. Marie stared at him.

"Oh... no... not him... please Lord, not my son! NNNNOOOOOO!" Marie screamed. She flung herself at the ground. She looked at Holmes, and the rapidly gathering pool of blood that surrounded him. 

"I love you, Sherlock. Please, forgive me. I'm so sorry. Find it in your heart..." she said, standing. Holmes stared at her, still stunned. Marie burst into tears, and ran through the fire.

I stared after her. Marie Holmes, better known as Marie Moriarty was gone. She wouldn't come back. I slowly picked myself up off the ground and moved toward Holmes. 

Holmes had propped himself up against the wall. The blood poured out of his stomach wound like Old Faithful. The flames were all most near enough to kill us, but I had to tell Holmes something.

"Your mother wasn't that bad," I said, leaning on him. He tried to smile, but it cracked.

"I know. She was so sweet... I thought she might return to me," he stated. I looked at him and saw the thin tears streaming down his face. I began to cry too.

"Gosh Holmes. This isn't exactly how I expected to die," I said, trying to make him laugh. I succeeded, but it turned into throaty coughs. I turned to him.

"You know that I loved you, right?" I asked. He smiled.

"Of course. And I you?" he asked immediately. I sniffed.

"Yeah. All though, next time you have a girlfriend, you really oughtn't be so subtle, you know? I got, what?, one, two kisses out of you?" I asked. He smiled again.

"First of all, there won't be another girlfriend. Second of all, I'm really sorry," he answered. I frowned, the flames and the pain in my arm getting closer and stronger.

"For what?" I asked. He began to fade.

"For... never telling you... that I loved you," he uttered. He pulled my face close to his, kissed me gently, then passed out. I began to cry.

"Good bye Holmes. I'll see you in heaven," I whispered. Giving into the pain and my body, I collapsed into his arms, and the blackness and heat surrounded me.

******************************************************************************************

"Hey Holmes," I said. The place was white, and beautiful. There was a golden glow everywhere, and it felt like home.

"Well, fancy meeting you here Watson," Holmes said. I looked at him. He had a golden glow and looked so happy. I smiled.

"I'm so happy we're alive," I said grinning. Suddenly, the smile that filled Holmes face contracted into a look of horror, and a hole suddenly appeared in his stomach. The blood began to pour over his white sweater.

"Look what you did to me Watson! You just lay there, while I was killed! I hope you rot!" an eerie voice cried. I gasped. It couldn't be Holmes'! No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no....

******************************************************************************************

"Will she be all right doctors?" a scared voice asked. I opened my eyes and looked around. The place was white... heaven?

"She'll be fine. Look, she's opened her eyes," said someone else. I took a deep breath, and came to full awareness.

I lay in a hospital bed, an IV hooked to my arm, and doctors surrounding me. My left arm was covered in a cast, and I could feel burns and bruises covering my legs and face. My mom rushed over.

"Oh baby! Thank God you're all right! I called your father, and he said he's flying in from Michigan to visit his little princess. Oh, honey, I love you. We nearly lost you," my mother sobbed. I looked at her.

"Mom, I love you. I'm really sorry for everything I've ever done. I'm glad you're here," I said. She looked at me.

"Well, what compelled you to say that?" she asked. I closed my eyes again, suddenly very tired.

"A friend's mother taught me that I should be glad to have you around. And that a mother will always love there child, no matter what," I murmured, and fell asleep once again.

The doctors kept me in my room for two days before I demanded to see Holmes. They said I couldn't, which irritated me a lot. Finally, four days after they refused me the first time I burst out.

"Why can't I see Holmes! You're going to kill me trying to keep me here! I can use the blasted wheelchair, I can get to his room! Just let me talk to him!" I yelled at a very persistent nurse. She called for the doctor, and I repeated my request. He looked distinctly uncomfortable and looked me in the face.

"I'm sorry Miss Watson, but Mr. Holmes is... unavailable," the doctor said. I glared at him.

"Why?" I demanded. He sighed.

"Well ma'am, we didn't want to tell you this until you had recovered, but your friend is in a coma. We think that he will die," the doctors said. I looked at him, confused.

"How can he be in a coma?" I asked. The doctor bit his lip, then continued.

"Well, he lost a lot of blood. Too much, in fact. And the burns, the shock... they all lead to a coma. I'm afraid you can't talk to him," the doctor said, rising from his chair that he had sat in at the beginning of our talk. I took a deep breath.

"Then let me at least see him," I said. The doctor shook his head.

"You can't talk to him, Miss," he replied. I scowled, then began to pretend to cry.

"At least let me say good bye," I bawled. The doctor sighed and got a wheelchair. Wiping my face in satisfaction, I allowed myself to be lowered into the chair.

Holmes looked drawn and white. The doctors left us alone, and told me no more than ten minutes. I stared at his face, usually so full of expression, which now looked dead. His long finger twitched with unseen dreams, and the heart monitor beeped annoyingly. I took his hand.

"Well, look at what our investigation got us into. Both of us stuck with the doctors. Ick, I always hated hospitals," I said conversationally. When nothing happened, I squeezed his hand angrily.

"Darn you Holmes! Go and get yourself killed for the sake of a case! Couldn't you at least of waited until you were old? Like seventy or something?" I asked irately. I wheeled my chair so I had my back to him.

"Look, you're my only friend. If you go and die, I'll kill you," I sadly said. Hearing no reply, I sighed. I expected him to wake up at any moment, I think, but I knew it wouldn't happen.

"Marie got away. It stinks, doesn't it? I think she would of gone back to the 'good side' after a little while. She was insane, you see. But she loved you. And doesn't love always find a way?" I asked bitterly.

"Yes," came the slightly sarcastic voice of my good friend. I spun around and saw that his dark blue eyes were open and looking at me. I yelped.

"You're awake!" I screamed. He winced.

"Brilliant deduction. All though if you keep up that infernal screeching, you'll surely knock me unconscious and take out a few windows at the same time," he answered.

"Well, I can see you're feeling better," I grinned. He smiled.

"Yes I am, Watson. Better than I've felt in a long time. Go get the doctors, will you? I'm sure they'll be thrilled with my condition," he answered. Obediently, I spun my chair and went to get the nurse.


	10. Fallen Embers

Last chapter! If you had ideas, it is to late, but I do plan to write a sequel if the readers want. The last chapter was really hard to write, and it caused me a lot of tears. I hope you didn't laugh at my sappiness, because I found it really sad. Think about it: A mother, gone insane, nearly kills her kid, but is very upset. She left her son, just because the world found her ugly. It's hard to know that our world treats people cruelly just because they're different. Well, this is the conclusion chapter. Adieu, my readers. Until next time...

Chapter Ten: Fallen Embers

Holmes and I stood at the edge of a cliff. His father had married Charise a week ago, and Jeffery had been placed in jail. Of course, this didn't make Holmes' family situation much better. I think it hit him when Charise and Mr. Holmes kissed that his mother couldn't come back.

The early February weather was very chilly, and I leaned against Holmes for warmth.

"You know she can't come back," I said gently, breaking the silence. I heard Holmes sigh.

"I know. I remember when she was 'alive' though. She was so sweet. She used to sing a song to me, to try to make me fall asleep. Mother... Marie was very artistic. I just wish she could have stayed though," he whispered. The wind drowned out parts of his words, but he communicated the point clearly. Suddenly, he pointed up. 

"Look," he said. I craned my neck upwards and saw the shower of comets. They were stunning.

"Wow," I muttered. He smiled and pulled me close to him.

"I love you, Jenny," he said in my ear.

"And I love you, Sherlock," I replied.

Sherlock Holmes is my dearest friend. His heart is good, and his love for his mother won't stop just because she is a criminal. After all, who could stop loving there mother?

__

Once, as my heart remembers,

all the stars were fallen embers.

Once, when night seemed forever

I was with you.

Once, in the care of morning

in the air was all belonging.

Once, when that day was dawning

I was with you.

How far we are from morning

how far we are

and the stars shining through the darkness

falling in the air.

Once, as the night was leaving

into us our dreams were weaving.

Once, all dreams were worth keeping.

I was with you.

Once, when our hearts were sing.

I was with you.

(Fallen Embers, by Enya).

Well, that's all. This is the only story I've ever completed in my entire life of writing, and I'm very happy. I hope you liked the story, and I hope you review. Even if it's a flame, at least I'll be able to work with it. I will probably write a sequel, unless I get to caught up with my homework.

Oh, and try to keep your heart open to those who are different from you. That was one illustration of my story. Mostly, it was just for fun, but I wanted people to understand that those who are different aren't necessarily bad. Just give people a chance, and you might find the best of friends, like Jenny Watson did______ Moonshine


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